


Falling In

by ang3lba3



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon!Dean, M/M, PTSD, charlie's the best, fourth wall what fourth wall?, mention of hypothetical noncon, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:12:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time he sees it, it’s completely on accident and he spends the next half hour curled up in a ball in the corner of her bathroom, chanting a shaky exorcism and staring at his reflection.</p><p>~ in which this is more relevant than ever ~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling In

The first time he sees it, it’s completely on accident and he spends the next half hour curled up in a ball in the corner of her bathroom, chanting a shaky exorcism and staring at his reflection.

 

Charlie finds him when he’s just managed to stand without puking, and it takes her all of ten seconds to realize what happened.

 

"God, Dean, I’m sorry-"

 

"It’s fine." he says, and they catch up on Game of Thrones and pretend that Dean always put that much salt on his food.

 

-

 

The next time he sees it, he supposes he should have expected it.

 

Charlie had sent him a link to some fanart of Daenerys, and he was half way certain that the artist had sold their soul because holy shit. He clicked through their other stuff, and even when he didn’t know the characters he could still admire the level of work and skill and-

 

Huh, that kinda looked like -

 

He spent the next two hours repeating the panic attack he’d had at Charlie’s.

 

-

 

"Dean-"

 

"I’m fine."

 

And he’s not, and Sam knows that, but it’s such an ancient lie between them and does anyone ever say that they’re fine and mean it more anyways? Is it a lie if they both know what it means, if they both know that he means he’s not fine he’ll never be fine but he doesn’t have to be admitted to a psych ward just yet?

 

Probably.

 

-

 

The third time he sees it, he snaps.

 

It isn’t even - it’s just that it was very, very bad timing and they were on a case and goddammit this shouldn’t be freaking him out but it is. He goes back to the bunker with jerky movements and mumbled excuses and Sam finishes the salt and burn in record time before following him.

 

"Dean. Dean, you’ve been in there for over an hour."

 

But he doesn’t say anything, just lets the water pummel down onto him into him and it’s been freezing cold for quite a while now but it’s a nice distraction from the burning itch under his skin.

 

"Dean." and Sam, he sounds scared, like he’s trying to hide it but it doesn’t matter because Dean knows his brother and he held him through nightmares and fevers and heartbreaks and he will always know when Sam is scared.

 

"I’m gonna open the door, okay?"

 

And that’s not Sam’s voice, that’s Charlie’s, and it’ll probably be only slightly less awkward for her to see him naked. He should probably cover up or something but the towels seem so very far away and it would be so much effort to move.

 

"Fuck - you’re gonna get so sick -"

 

Charlie’s cursing in something he’s fairly certain is Mandarin (purely Firefly quotes) and possibly some Klingon, then she’s turning off the shower and dragging him out of the tub. It would be harder to fight it than just stand and let her towel him dry, let her guide him into his boxers and tug him out the door. He falls face down on the bed she directs him to, afraid to close his eyes, runs monster stats through his head like they’ll keep the memories at bay.

 

-

 

"So we need to get Cas here." Sam says firmly, but quietly, because they’d left Dean’s door open and were more or less loitering in the hallway.

 

"No frakking kidding." Charlie mutters. "Where did he last call you from?"

 

"We - we actually haven’t heard from him. Since the fall."

 

"What?" Charlie hisses, grabbing Sam’s arm and fingers digging in just a bit too hard.

 

"We - Charlie that hurts - we were too busy finding a ritual or whatever that would actually heal me and then trying to find Mrs. Tran and then the angels started making people’s heads explode-“

 

"Basically, you think he’s dead." Charlie says grimly, releasing Sam.

 

"No, I just…" Sam sighs, closing his eyes briefly. "It’s better to let him hope than for him to…

 

"You didn’t see what happened the last few times. Every time Cas disappears or dies, Dean just gives up a little bit more."

 

"Fuck. Okay. I’ll - I can find him. His vessel, James Novak, right?"

 

"How-"

 

"Carver Edlund." Charlie says, pointedly raising her eyebrows. Sam just gives a sort of resigned nod. "I’m - give me a few days. If we’re lucky, less. If America had CCTV this would be hella easier."

 

-

 

Four days of trying (and mostly failing) to make Dean do something other than take ridiculously long showers and eat things practically crusted with salt and drink something he didn’t chuck a rosary in first, Charlie found Cas. Three hours later, she was searching the (relatively) small town. She’d gotten a hit from a gas station’s security camera, a grungy looking dude who didn’t even pretend he wasn’t going to sleep around back.

 

Charlie parked, took a deep breath, and left the car to meet Dean Winchester’s angel.

 

-

 

"What do you want?"

 

It was a rude thing to say, doubly so when the person saying it had you pinned against a wall with a knife to your throat.

 

"To take you home."

 

Cas narrowed his eyes, and the blade pressed a little closer. “I don’t have a home.”

 

"To the Winchesters, then.” Charlie nearly rolled her eyes, because if after all this time and what she’d read in the books Cas was still pretending Heaven was his home…

 

The metal retreated a little, but if she swallowed she still risked her throat being slit.

 

"Why?"

 

"Dean needs you." Charlie said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and it kind of was.

 

Cas dropped his arm, blade still held loosely in his fist.

 

"Take me to him."

 

The 'if you're lying I will kill you and it will be painful' was heavily implied.

 

-

 

Dean wasn’t asleep, per se.

 

He was in that state of not quite that he’d been occupying for several days now, eyelids heavy as he stared at the wall across from him. Every time he closed them it was nightmares, worse than they had been in years. He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t in fight or flight mode, and maybe it was the sense of security that broke him. Maybe it was feeling safe(ish) that finally let his brain snap.

 

Or maybe this was what a midlife crisis was for a hunter, though really he should have had his at around fifteen because it was incredible he’d survived this far and he probably wasn’t gonna get much older-

 

"Hello, Dean."

 

Oh shit, no oh _shit_ , he couldn’t see him like this he couldn’t see him at all -

 

Like the mature adult he was, Dean tugged the covers over his head and pretended that if he couldn’t see Cas then Cas wouldn’t see him.

 

"Dean."

 

There was a change of pressure in the mattress and then Cas’s arms were wrapping around him and it was so fucking girly and Dean Winchester didn’t cuddle but the physical contact grounded him, let him know that he wasn’t back there. Hell wasn’t big on handing out hugs.

 

Dean realized he was crying, but the tears were salty so that was okay. He thought Cas was saying something, but he couldn’t stand to hear the words, couldn’t stand to hear the forgiveness and acceptance in them, so he just let the deep rumble lull him to sleep.

 

-

 

Dean’s increased use of the internet for something besides porn - namely for geeky things - had led to him stumbling over the ever-growing fandom for Carver Edlund’s books. He would almost feel flattered, hell, he kinda did, that people would spend that much time and effort into making porn about him. Despite the 50c at a used book store quality of the books, Chuck had a gift for describing things in exceedingly explicit (if badly worded) detail. So the art was - accurate. Not difficult to recognize the members of it if you were unfortunate to know them in reality.

 

So he’d seen a lot of fucked up art starring him and his brother - which, God, _ew ew no ew_ \- seen some with Bobby and Crowley (which was frankly the funniest fucking thing he’d ever encountered), quite a few with Anna and himself.

 

He just wasn’t prepared - probably never could be - to see himself with black eyes staring out of his screen, picture photographic quality. It was fine though, he could deal with that, he could shuffle that down to the bottom of his list of nightmares and be okay after he freaked out a bit.

 

The next? Not so much, he needed some time. It was him torturing Sam, and that was so much worse because he’d done that. He’d never posed for some stupid selfie with black eyes, but - he’d tortured Sammy, in hell. He knew far more intimately than anyone ever should what his little brother’s organs felt like, smelled like, tasted like. It wasn’t actually Sam of course - that was just an illusion - but the memory burned holes inside of his chest like it had been.

 

The last one - that was - that was the final straw. Because he’d never tortured Cas, never raped him, never learned the way his screams sounded when his throat was fucked raw. It had a starring role in dreams, but on waking up he always - he always had that piece of reassurance. That it wasn’t real. That it never had been.

 

But then he sees that picture and it stuns him, makes him sick, and it’s even worse because the people commenting think it’s - think it’s hot, somehow think it’s attractive that he’d tie up one of his only friends and do those things to him.

 

It’s not, it’s disgusting and awful and even worse because he could have done it. He could have been a demon, he could have trapped Cas somehow, he would have taken pleasure from carving agony into the angel’s skin.

 

-

 

And even though he doesn’t deserve it, he lets Cas whisper absolution and praise into his skin, lets Charlie coerce him into movie marathons and video game tournaments, needles Sam about his godawful hair -

 

Because he doesn’t deserve it but for some reason they want him to be okay. And Dean Winchester has always been an expert at giving people what they want.

 

It was what made him one of Alastair's favorites, actually.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So - this has been bothering me for a while, and with the finale I think it's more relevant than it was when I wrote it. Every time I see demon!Dean this bugs at the back of my head, maybe because I treat them like real people in my head. Also, so not getting on anyone for liking demon!Dean (he may or may not be a guilty pleasure for me) but I think it would really fuck Dean up to see himself like that.


End file.
